Writing

I spent years writing about transformation. Emotional resonance, authentic connection, helping brands communicate the things that matter. I was good at it. What I didn't realise until much later was that I was working from a completely abstract relationship to all of it.

I was most of the way through my biodynamic training before I understood something that should have been obvious. I'd been learning how to hold space, how to listen through my hands, how to be present for someone else's nervous system unravelling. Meanwhile, I was barely letting anyone near mine.

There was a long stretch of my life where the proof that things were going well was how full the calendar was. Meetings booked, kids dropped off, projects delivered, dinners made. Hong Kong makes it very easy to sustain this logic — the city moves at a pace that rewards it.

I was functioning. By almost any measure you'd care to use, I was doing well. The kids were cared for, the work was getting done, I was showing up to things. I had the language of wellness — I exercised, I slept roughly enough, I talked about stress with the right words.

I'd always thought of myself as someone who didn't really get stressed. I wasn't volatile. I didn't lose my temper. I handled things. I was — I was certain of this — calm. It took a while to understand that what I was calling calm was something closer to frozen.